


Dressed in Silhouettes

by seratonation



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Blink and you miss it references to other fandoms, Budapest, Canon Appropriate Violence, Espionage, F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Minor Character Death of Original Characters, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Nudity, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers (2012), SHIELD, The Hospital Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/pseuds/seratonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clint was sent to take out the Black Widow, he accidentally… didn't. Instead he takes her to the one person who will know what to do. Phil Coulson. Coulson manages to convince everyone that Natasha working for them is the best possible outcome. The only snag is that Fury puts Clint in charge of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressed in Silhouettes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Shannen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/devilswhore_x/pseuds/devilswhore_x) for all the hand holding, and for making this a million times better than it was. 
> 
> Thanks to Nicky Gabriel for the fantastic cover. [Go check it out & give her all the kudos](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005735).
> 
> Thank you to the [marvel bang](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com/) mods for being so organising and helpful in arranging the whole thing. 
> 
> Title comes from Valmont by Empires.

 

Clint drew back, aimed, waited. The target was a young woman who was deadly. She’d raised more red flags at SHIELD than any other target he’d ever seen. 

He watched her spin and duck, her fighting more elegant than it had any right to be. She was strong, even though she didn't look it. In fact, if she had passed him on the street, Clint wouldn’t have looked twice.

He saw her take down another five goons before his very eyes, and for the first time since he was recruited he hesitated. 

He lowered his bow and watched her make her way through another three men. _What a waste,_ he thought. 

He brought his bow back up to his eye line and drew it back. The angle changed and he lost his shot. He followed her, getting lower, closer. He still couldn't find a clear shot, so he got closer still and suddenly she was right in front of him. She looked just as surprised as he did. 

He was the first to react, he whipped his bow around and hit her across the head, knocking her out. He took a quick look around the room but she had taken care of everyone else. 

_Shit,_ he thought. He knelt down but she was still alive. _Shit, shit, shit._

One of the prone forms made a low sound and Clint came to a decision. He tied up her hands and her feet, threw her easily over his shoulder and left before he could rethink what he was doing. 

***

Natasha came to all in one go. She kept her breathing even, kept her eyes closed and took stock of the situation. 

Her hands were pressed together, the skin snagging which means tape, her legs too, probably over her pants.

Her weapons were gone, which means she was thoroughly searched. _Fuck_. She thought back. She was sure she got all of the minions, but she had turned around and found one six inches from her. 

She had been surprised, and too slow to react, but she could remember him clearly. He’d had a quiver of arrows on his back, and a patch on his chest that wasn’t like the others. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” a voice said. It was male, and somewhere in front of her and to the right, probably eight feet away. 

She opened her eyes and saw him sitting there, an arrow pointed straight at her. 

“Any sudden movements and that might not be the case anymore,” he continued. 

“I think it was you who was lucky,” she said, testing her bindings.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “don’t even think about it.”

“What do you want?” she asked, “Information? Sex? Both?” She smirked at him.

“No and no. Gross you’re like, a baby,” he said, “I’m saving you.”

That was a new one. “Saving me for what? Your boss?”

“Okay, stop,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you-”

“That’d be easier to believe if I wasn't tied up and on your bed right now.”

“If I let you go would you co-operate?” he asked, lowering the bow ever so slightly.

“No promises,” she said.

“If you run, I will shoot you,” he said, but he was coming towards her, a knife held in front of him. Her hands came free first; his first mistake, she too his head between her hands and head-butted him, grabbed the knife to undo her legs and was going to the window before he could-

She heard the snap of the bow a second before she felt the arrow pierce her thigh. 

She stumbled and fell to the ground. She tried to get up but her leg wouldn't support her weight. 

“You missed,” she said, pulling herself up on the wall, letting her hair hide the pain on her face. 

He grabbed her arm so that she stumbled and had to clutch at him so that she didn’t fall again. He pulled her towards the bed and all she could do was hobble along after him, every movement agonisingly painful. 

“I never miss,” he said, and let her down on the bed on her stomach, “sit still so I can pull it out and stop the bleeding before you die.”

She had no choice but to comply. Even if she could overpower him now, it was obvious she wasn't going to get far. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked as he cut open her pants to get to the wound. 

“I was sent to kill you,” he said, “I would’ve, but I made a different call.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, then sucked in a breath when the arrow was pulled from her flesh. 

“It means you made my bosses really angry,” he said, “but not as angry as they’re going to be with me.”

“So why don’t you just kill me?” she said.

He stopped working and when she turned her head she saw he’d pulled away to rest on the balls of his feet. “Do you want to die?” he said, “Is that what you want?”

“I’d like to see you try,” she said, even though she knew she was defeated, he’d already had a few chances and he hadn’t done it. 

He rolled his eyes and went back to work, binding her leg with ripped strips of the bed sheets. She stayed silent and waited for him to finish. This couldn't be happening. It was too strange. Who was this man, why was he helping her, and what did he want from her?

***

He took her across the country. They drove for three days, and he never let her out of his sight. He didn't really try to restrain her, he didn't have to.

He only stopped at the quietest of the diners and shops, and he made sure to take all the back roads. Between the sweltering heat and her injured leg she wouldn't have gotten far, even if she had tried to get away. 

By the time they pulled up to a house in the middle of nowhere, she wasn't exactly sure where they were besides the fact they had gone west. 

“Come on, sunshine,” he said, when he came around to the passenger side and pulled her out of the car. 

She leaned heavily on him because she had no choice, and hopped along beside him as they walked up to the house. 

“Your place?” she asked casually. 

He gave her a sideways look, but didn't answer. Instead he knocked on the door. Not his place then. 

The door was answered by a man in dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He looked from her captor to her and back again. 

“Clint,” he said, strangely calm, “is that your mark?”

“She might be,” Clint said. 

“And why is your mark standing outside my door and not back in Boston with an arrow in her eye socket?” he asked. “Nothing personal,” he said, turning to her again. 

She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“Can we come inside?” Clint said. She didn't miss how he avoided the question, and by the looks of it, neither did the nondescript owner of this nondescript house. 

He shook his head in exasperation but moved aside to let them in.

“She can’t run,” Clint said, “where can I put her so we can talk?” 

“Put her in the guest bedroom,” the man said, “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

He took her deeper into the house, to a bedroom with white walls and white sheets. But there were lavenders in the vase, and instead of clinical the room seemed inviting. 

“The windows don't open,” he told her, “and the glass is shatter proof.” He took out a pair of handcuffs and secured her to the metal rungs of the headboard. 

“Don’t try anything,” he said, and left, the sound of the lock very definite. 

It was ridiculously easy to slip out of the handcuffs. She pulled out a hair clip from her curls and started on the door. This was a little harder, but not by much. Within minutes she was hobbling down the corridor towards the front door. 

He’d dropped the keys by the door, as if almost on instinct. She’ll probably open the damn wound again, but she could deal with it once she was far enough away. 

“-can be an asset, Coulson,” Clint’s voice came through the kitchen door. 

“This could mean your job, you idiot,” Coulson said. 

“I’m willing to risk it,” Clint said, “you should have seen her fight, she’s better than half the top agents we have, and she’s so young! Younger than I was, younger than most recruits.”

She got closer to the door. She knew she should just keep going but she wanted to know why, why had this person done the opposite of what he should have. 

“Clint, you disobeyed a direct order,” Coulson said, “it doesn't matter how good she is, did you not read the file? She’s lethal, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Maybe I can keep her in line?” Clint said. 

Coulson laughed. “Oh, Fury would love that.”

“Come on, Phil,” Clint said, “can’t you back me up for once?”

“Don’t even try that, Barton,” Coulson said, “I have backed you up so much more than you deserve, but this-”

Clint put up a hand to stop Coulson talking. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

She cursed mentally. Well, she was caught now, no point in hiding. “Listen, I appreciate what you did but let’s just pretend it never happened,” she said, entering the kitchen and facing Clint. “Let me go, you can tell your boss I got away and we can all go back to normal.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint said. 

“Why not?” Natasha asked, “Everyone wins.”

“No,” Clint said. 

“He never misses,” Coulson said, “They’ll know, word gets out, SHIELD will know. In fact, they probably have someone on the way right now to deal with this situation.”

“You said that before,” she said, putting a hand on her hip, “and I never got a proper answer.”

“It means exactly what you think it means,” Coulson said, “there is a team on its way out here right now to fix this mistake, so you have two options, you run and prolong your death by say, a day? Maybe two? Or you listen, you take our offer, and you live.”

“I told you, I don't want to work for your gang,” she said. 

“We’re not a gang,” Clint said, “we’re an agency.”

“They’re all gangs in the end,” she said, “some just have better funding.”

“You know,” Clint said, “I used to think the same thing.”

“What’s stopping me from killing you both right now?” she asked, trying to buy herself time, she couldn't decide if she wanted to get close enough to get the job done or far enough so that she can slip through the door and into the car outside before they can stop her. 

“That takes you back to option one,” Coulson said, “you run, you live a maximum of 2 days. I can guarantee that.”

She was starting to feel trapped. What if he was right? Of course he could be lying to scare her into staying. But what would be the point? Clint was obviously skilled, he could have killed her on various occasions and yet, here she stands, albeit a little awkwardly on her injured leg. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked, even though she’d already made her decision. 

“You don't,” Clint said, “just like we don't know if we can trust you, but that’s what faith is for.”

***

Fury, unsurprisingly, made her Clint and Coulson’s responsibility. He said that if one of them slipped they will all go down for it. 

It was a strange way of doing it, but it ensured they had each other’s backs, whether they liked it or not. Natasha could see the advantages for Fury. 

Clint expected her to leave once her leg healed, then once they had all become complacent. She could see him watching her, keeping her in his sights. She could see the surprise every time he located her, still on point, still on his side. 

But they were still trying to get the feeling of each other and their third mission went south fast. He pulled them out and they reunited at the closest safe house. 

They gave her her own room. There were rugs on the hardwood floors, a mostly empty closet and a bed so beautiful that it should have been in a hotel, not a cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

She was so tired she was expecting to sleep through the night, but instead she was jolted awake too early. A nightmare. She didn't know what it had been, she can never remember them. All she knew was that she woke up with her heart pounding and her mouth dry. She threw off the covers and padded to the kitchen.

The wooden floors made it hard for bare feet to make no sound, but she wasn't expecting company. It was still dark outside, and the place was remote, hidden, and guarded. 

Clint had said it was fully stocked so she hoped there was more than just water to drink. She stopped in her tracks. She saw the light before she heard anything. She instantly tensed, walked with her back to the wall, made sure she was as silent as possible, but as she got closer she heard the sound of soft music and someone humming along. 

Not hostiles then. She was still cautious until she could see who the one in the kitchen was. When she saw it was Clint she relaxed completely, walking into view. 

“What are you doing up?” she asked, going to the fridge and pulling out a beer. 

“Post midnight snack,” he said, “or really early breakfast, take your pick.”

“Why, what’s the time?” she said, opening another drawer and taking out a bottle opener. 

“Four am or so,” he replied, finally looking up at her and grinning. 

“Have you slept at all?” she asked. He was in a singlet and striped boxers, but he was a lot more active that he should be for someone who’s just come out of bed. 

“No,” he said, “I’m not very good at that sleeping thing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You must sleep occasionally.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, mostly I just pass out from exhaustion, you want something to eat?” 

She didn't miss the sudden change of topic but she let it go. At least he wasn’t asking her why she was awake. “Sure,” she said, sitting down at the stool opposite his work space, “what are you making?”

“I call it the safe house sandwich,” he said, his hands moving, slicing, layering, “and it’s basically building it out of whatever we can find in the pantry.”

“It’s not all the same?” she asked as he put the sandwiches into a sandwich press.

“No,” he replied, smiling, “it depends on who’s stocking it up for us, and what they think is essential food. Tonight we have a selection of condiments, tuna, this weird fancy looking cheese, olives and pesto. Or there’s peanut butter, but no jelly.”

“What?” she asked, before she could stop herself, “How can you think peanut butter is essential but not have jelly to go with it?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Right? There’s no Nutella either.” 

“Nutella?” she asked, “With peanut butter?”

“Uh, yes?” he said, “It’s basically heaven on Earth.”

“I’ve never tasted them together before,” she mused. 

“Crying shame,” he said, “next safe house, I’ll make sure we have some of both. Best post midnight snack out there.” He opened the sandwich press, placed the sandwiches on plates and passed one over to her. 

The sandwich probably shouldn’t have tasted as good as it did, but something about all the different flavours made it work. “It’s good,” she said, around her mouthful. 

He grinned at her. “I’m sort of an expert sandwich builder.”

She laughed at that. The nightmare seemed a long time ago now, nothing but a distant memory. 

***

This mission was supposed to be easy. Clint didn't understand why Fury had demanded on having such a large team, especially when he insisted on extra care. The person they were tailing was an ex-agent of something classified, which was fine, Clint operated on a need to know basis. The less he knew, the less danger he was going to be to himself and others. 

The trip was long. The mark was on his honeymoon with his wife, but with six SHIELD agents on his tail it was hard to keep them concealed. 

Clint dispersed his agents around the plane but had Natasha sit next to him. Their cover was that they were a new couple themselves on a holiday over the Christmas break. 

It was strange to see Natasha in her element like this, smiling and flirting, and for a moment he found himself believing it. 

“Have you ever been to Budapest?” he asked her. 

She shook her head no. “I’ve always wanted to though, my parents told me that’s where we originated from, generations ago.”

Clint smiled, even though he knew it was part of the story, part of the cover. “That’s awesome,” he said, “maybe you can be the tour guide on this trip, then.”

She laughed. “I don't know it that well, not unless you want to skip the big important spots and want to see that one white house with blue doors and stone stairs.”

Clint felt his face soften and went along with it, it was a legitimate reaction. “That actually doesn't sound too bad.”

She smiled back, and this time he saw it reach her eyes. Maybe this trip wasn't going to be a complete waste of time. 

***

“The couple is moving,” Spencer said, turning from his screen to look at Clint, “you want to send a tail?” 

“No, me and Widow will go,” he said, “solidify the cover.” He turned to her, “you ready?” 

“Give me a sec,” she said, and walked into her room. Two minutes later she came out again dressed in shorts and a tank top, and her hair tied in a ponytail at the base of her neck. 

“Let’s go,” she said, slinging a purse across her shoulder and heading for the door. 

Clint glanced at Spencer, who grinned at him before turning to his computer. “They’re heading east towards the main road, you should be able to catch up, they’re moving pretty slow.”

“Have fun!” Spencer’s partner called out, and Clint didn’t need to see it to know they were grinning at each other. Junior agents were getting younger every year.

He closed the door behind him and ran after Natasha, who was holding the elevator for him. 

True to Spencer’s directions, they caught up with the couple before they managed to get out of sight of the hotel. Clint tried to focus on the couple, but he found his attention drifting to Natasha, and the perfume she was wearing. 

At lunchtime the couple sat at a cafe so Clint and Natasha lingered in the area. Clint stopped by a fountain while Natasha kept walking. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear his head. 

“They’re moving,” she said, right beside him, and Clint jumped, “you alright?” 

“How are you so quiet?” he asked.

She laughed. “I’m just that good,” she said, “you coming?” She laced her fingers in his and pulled him away. He resisted the urge to detangle their fingers and go back to the fountain, to splash his face with the water. 

They followed the couple to the Museum of Fine Arts, lingered in the Botero Exhibit as the couple drifted ahead. Just as he and Natasha were about to turn a corner something caught his attention. 

He wrapped his fingers around Natasha’s arm. “Do you see that?” 

“Another man tailing us?” she asked.

“Tailing them,” he said, “do you see any weapons?”

“There’s a gun strapped to his ankle,” she said, “but I don’t think he’d use that.”

“Too many people,” he agreed, “knife?” 

She shook her head. “Can’t tell, we need to get closer.”

Clint glanced around to make sure the man was alone, and then approached him. “Hey man,” he said, “you’re looking kinda pale.”

“I’m fine,” the man said, and then gently fell forward. Clint caught him, and lowered him to the ground. 

Natasha called out for some guards and maybe an ambulance. He had a hard time following the language when it was spoken calmly and clearly, there was no way he’d be able to follow when it was being rattled off the way Natasha was speaking it. 

When there was enough of a crowd and the guards had taken over, Clint took Natasha’s hand and started walking away. He put a finger to his ear. “Spence, I need a location-”

“They’re not far,” Spencer said, “they took a- er- break, in one of the public bathrooms.”

“What?” 

“You know,” Spencer’s partner broke in, “a rendezvous, a meeting, a wham-bam-”

“Thank you, Brendon,” Clint cut him off, “where are they now?”

“Just down those stairs and to the right,” Brendon said. 

They turned the corner and found the couple coming straight towards them. Natasha grabbed his shirt and pulled him to the side, pressing her back to the wall. 

“Kiss me,” she said. 

“What?” he said. Her perfume was overwhelming this close. Then, as the couple got closer, she put her hands on his face and pressed their lips together. He relaxed into it, tilting his head and placing one hand on her waist and the other on her neck, just below her ear. 

She pulled away and looked up at him. “I think they’re gone.”

“What?” he said, again, feeling stupid.

“We should start moving if we want to keep up this time,” she continued. 

“Right,” he said, “the mission.”

“Right,” she repeated, smirking. She knew exactly the effect she had on him. He was so screwed. 

***

When they got a signal Clint volunteered to go. His shift was going to start in 10 minutes, so he might as well use it getting some exercise while he trailed the husband. He put on civilian clothes, took a concealed gun and left Spencer and Natasha in charge.

The cold air was like knives on his face but he kept his eyes on the man in front of him. Then he got the call. An emergency back at the hotel, before the line cut off. He briefly debated going back, but the man was his responsibility and his team could handle themselves.

However, the closer he got to the hotel, the more anxious he got. He still hadn’t heard back from his team and when he passed by the sentry post there was no one there. Alarms started to go off in his head. 

“Widow,” he said into his comm, “Smith, come in.”

His unease grew the longer his comm stayed silent. Something was wrong. When he was nearly run down by a civilian running in the opposite direction, the only civilian he’s seen since he entered the building, he started to run. 

The surveillance room was empty, the connections all dead, the screens nothing but grey static. He went to the target’s room and had to stop for a moment to take it all in. 

There was blood everywhere, his agents strewn across the room as if they were nothing but rag dolls, and there was no sign of the wife.

There was a groan and he saw Natasha on the ground, hidden by the bulk of the bed. He ran to her, fell to his knees beside her. 

“Tasha?” he tried.

Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up. Just then the asset was in the doorway. Clint put a hand on her shoulder and kept her still. “Play dead,” he whispered and stood up before she could protest. 

“Sir,” he said to the asset, “I need you to not come into the room.”

“My wife-” he started.

“I’ll do the best I can,” he said, “but I really need you to not take another step-”

“They took my wife!” he yelled, and was off, running down the hallway, calling someone on the phone as he did. 

Clint didn't hesitate. “Widow, I need you to call SHIELD,” he said and took off after the man. 

There were already people surrounding the man and pulling him into a helicopter as Clint stepped out into the daylight. He pulled out his gun but he couldn’t shoot without risking the bullets hitting the man. 

Natasha ran up and stopped behind him. “I can get them,” she said. 

“Not enough time,” Clint said, “besides, we don’t know enough about what this guy is capable of.”

She didn’t argue, instead she holstered her weapon and stepped down. “Fury’s on the way,” she said. 

“Fury?” he asked, surprised, as they watched the helicopter take off. 

“Yeah,” she said, “Coulson sounded worried, this is big.”

The ‘and we fucked it up’ hung in the air, unsaid. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, “The other agents-”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, despite the bloody lip and the gash on her forehead, “the others didn't make it.”

He cursed under his breath. This was not in any of the intel. 

***

“This is fucked up and you know it,” Clint said, “how can you let us go in there without telling us this could happen?” 

“Clint, please-” Coulson said, his hands raised, palms out, trying to calm the pacing archer. 

“We lost four agents out there,” Clint said, “four good agents.”

“I wish we’d known,” Coulson sighed, “I wish we could have told you-”

“Why didn't you know?” 

“We’re still looking into it,” he said, “our sources are being questioned as we speak.”

“I want to talk to Fury,” Clint said suddenly. 

“No,” Coulson replied, “absolutely not, not in this state.”

“We have to debrief,” Clint countered, “and I fully intend to tell him every little detail.”

“He knows,” Coulson said, “the backup crew got everything. He knows, Clint.”

Clint stopped pacing and took a deep breath, faking calm. 

“I need to speak to Fury,” he said again.

“There’s more,” Coulson countered, “before you go.”

Clint turned to him, but Phil didn't flinch. “Clint,” he said, “you should sit down.”

Clint set his jaw but sat down.

“The asset got away from his captors,” he said, “they were Russian mob, he killed six of them on his way out, he was arrested by the police and now he’s in Serbia, in jail.”

“The wife-” Clint started, but he already knew the answer. 

“She didn’t make it.” 

He rubbed at his face, trying to control himself. He’s never failed a mission like this before. 

“Clint,” Phil said, “this wasn’t your fault, this is bigger than us.”

“Bigger than SHIELD?” he snapped, “I thought there was no such thing.”

“No, he’s with another agency,” Phil explained, “above CIA but below SHIELD. But the incident, this agent, is bigger than us. He’s gone rogue before, but they thought he was out of the game.”

Clint sighed. “No one chooses to leave,” he said, “everyone knows that.” He stood up suddenly, and walked towards the door. “I’m going to see Natasha.”

***

Natasha was still in medical. She was sitting up in bed and the nurse was cleaning the wound on her forehead. Her eyes were closed while the nurse worked so he sat down, propped his feet on a metal support under the bed and waited. 

“Talked to Coulson?” she asked, eyes still closed. 

“You too?” he asked. 

“Me first,” she replied.

He watched the nurse finish up and collect his things before speaking again. 

“How could this happen,” he asked, “how could I _let_ this happen.”

“You didn't _let_ anything happen,” she said, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have stayed,” he said, running his hands through his hair, breaking eye contact, “sent someone else out.”

“How do you know you would have survived otherwise?” she asked, pulling herself down off the bed.

“Maybe I wasn’t meant to survive,” he said, more ferociously than he intended. 

“There is no meant to,” she replied, “only what has happened.”

“Eleven people died,” he said, looking up at her.

“Some of them were bad guys,” she said, sitting down next to him, “listen, he got his revenge, and accounted for ours as well.”

“That’s not how it works,” he said. 

“Yes, it is,” she said, glaring at him, “this is the real world, this is _our_ world, and if you think it’s not then you’ve been holed up here too long.”

“Is that how you work it out,” he said, “do you have a list, like an accountant?” 

He wasn't expecting an answer, so when she spoke she surprised him. “I have a ledger,” she said, sounding tired, looking away, “it’s been in the red for a very long time.” 

“Is that why you’re still here?” he asks, “trying to balance some of it out?”

“I thought I’d be able to- to do some good,” she said, “to counter what I’ve done in the past.”

He let out a huff of laughter, unamused. “And how’s that going for you?”

“I’m still here aren’t I?” she said, and he caught the ghost of a smile on her face. 

***

“We get sick days?” 

“What do you think happens when you end up in medical?” Coulson asked.

“It’s medical,” Clint replied, rolling his eyes, “that’s different.”

Coulson smiled at him, that small smile that means he was laughing at Clint. “It’s really not.”

“So what now?” he replied instead, leaning back and crossing his boots on Phil’s desk. 

Phil pushed Clint’s feet off. “You’re grounded till she gets better.”

“Aww, Phil,” Clint said, crossing his arms on the desk instead.

“Don’t aww me,” Phil said, “you know the rules. You also know where she is.”

“I do?” Clint asked, sitting up.

“If you actually visit your office every once in a while you might be able to find a file that might be helpful.”

“That office is so big, what do I need an office for anyway?” 

“You know all these reports you finish in medical?” Phil said, “People usually do them in their office.”

Clint shrugged. “I guess I owe it a visit then.”

He left Coulson’s office and made his way to his own. There were two desks in there, but Natasha’s side looked just as neglected as his. He dug through the mountain of paper on his desk until he found the file. 

Getting to the location was easy. Getting in was another matter. He managed to get past three of the traps she had set before he got tangled up in an elaborate set up of wires on the balcony. 

“Tasha!” he called out, “A little help?” 

He could see straight into her apartment from this vantage point, the only problem is that the more he tried to move, the more contorted his suspension became.

There was movement from inside and he fell in an ungracious heap. He groaned and opened his eyes to see Natasha staring down at him. 

“How did you find me?”

“Coulson- Coulson gave me your file, he said you were sick.” He rubbed at the back of his head and sat up. “Policy, everyone needs to have one known living address, just in case.”

“In case of what?” 

“Just, in case,” he said, letting her help him up, “I thought you were sick.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” she said, leaning against the wall. She was pale and clammy, with dark circles under her eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asked, “Why are you all dressed?” 

She looked away, trying to not look too guilty and probably failing.

She didn't have to say anything for him to know what she had been thinking. “Back to bed,” he said, “I don't like this anymore than you do, but rest apparently makes you better faster.”

She complied, dragging her feet but climbing on top of the covers. He helped her take off her shoes and her jacket and then pulled the covers over her. She heard him walking away and a moment later he was banging around the kitchen. 

She wanted to get up again, to tell him to be careful with her stuff but now she was back in bed she really didn't want to get out again. 

She didn’t fall asleep exactly, she was still conscious of him in her kitchen, and eventually the soft smell of something warm and comforting. When her room door opened again he was carrying a tray in one hand and a bottle in the other. 

She sat up and fixed her pillows, before taking the tray from him so he could settle on the edge of the bed, one leg pulled under him. “You make soup too?”

“Yeah, well,” he said, placing the bottle on the table, “it’s just stuff in a pot of water and some stuff to make it taste good.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, and glanced at the soup again. “I really hope you tasted this before you brought it over.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he said grinning, “it’s edible.”

“Comforting,” she said, sarcastically, and swirled her spoon around. It was thick, with a tomato base and chunky pieces of vegetables and- “Are those meatballs? Where did you get those?”

“You had some mince in the fridge? I hope you weren’t saving it for anything.”

She shook her head and lifted the spoon to her mouth for a careful taste. 

To her surprise, it was more than edible. “This is good,” she said, taking another sip.

“Why are you surprised?” he asked, “Frankly I’m insulted.”

“Listen,” she said, “I’ve seen your kitchen, and I’m surprised you even know what homemade food looks like.”

“I’m barely ever at that place,” he said, “there’s really no point in getting anything that won’t be used on the day. Now eat up, and I brought you some water, fluids are supposed to help.”

He got up to leave but she stopped him. “Aren’t you going to have some?” 

“Yeah, I’ll sit in the kitchen or something.”

“Just bring it back here,” she said, “I don’t want you going through my stuff while I’m out of commission.”

“Well, well,” he said, “the great black widow, not invincible after all.” But she glimpsed the edge of a smile before he turned away. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him leave before turning back to her own bowl. She would never have trusted someone to bring her food like this, without knowing what was in it, especially not while she was sick. 

She waited for the restlessness to set in, for the urge to start moving again, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clint returned with a bowl of his own, and a beer bottle she recognised from her own fridge. 

“That’s mine,” she said.

“Mine now,” he replied and took a swig, “good stuff.”

“I know,” she said, “you could’ve at least got me one.” 

“You have your water,” he said, gesturing with his bottle, “and later I’ll make you some warm lemon and honey.”

“ _Brutto,_ ” she muttered.

He let out a bark of laughter. “Okay, I don't need to speak the language to understand that,” he said, “I’m sure we can find something more to your taste.”

“It’s whiskey, milk and honey,” she said, “and an egg yolk.”

“Or that,” he said, “whatever will make you better, you might have to show me how to make it.”

She never got the chance though. They moved out to the living room later that afternoon and she ended up falling asleep on him. She hadn’t done that before either.

***

They weren’t even supposed to be there. The mission had gone awry, but Clint isn’t sure how they ended up in a hospital. 

Everything was moving in slow motion, but he was sure it was a sign of a head injury or blood loss or something. He saw the monster go after Natasha, he saw her gun go up and shoot. The monster deflected the bullet with a hand and it hit a tank instead. 

In the dust and commotion, and even through his pain, Clint had enough time to think _‘oh shit’_ before the tank exploded and the whole place was going up in flames. 

The monster was knocked off its feet, and didn’t get up again. Natasha managed to get out of range of the explosion but there was no escaping the fire. _This is it,_ Clint thought, _she’s going to escape and I’m going to die here._ She shaded her head from the heat with her arms, but instead of leaving she made her way over to him. 

“What are you doing?” he tried to say, but he was too weak and it all came out slurred. 

“I’m getting you out of here,” she replied anyway, “it’d help if you could make your legs work with me.”

He tried to get his feet under him as she dragged him up, and together they managed to make it to the edge of the room. 

“The window,” he said. 

“It’ll hurt like hell,” she said. 

“There’s no other way.”

She gave him a nod, and shot at the window until the safety glass fell out. She kicked out the remaining shards and then helped Clint onto the sill. He looked down at the ground, two stories below them. He braced his back on one side and his legs on the other and then jumped out. 

He landed on his feet, but the shock sent pain shooting up his whole torso, and he fell, clutching at his side. 

Natasha landed next to him, elegant as ever. She was instantly by his side, covering his hand with hers, the blood seeping out between their fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head to tell her it wasn't her fault, but even talking was too painful. A pained sound escaped instead, and he arched trying to relieve the pressure, but everything hurt. 

“Tasha,” he said, “I need- help.”

“Yes,” she said, “tell me what you need.”

“The quinjet,” he said, “call Phil.”

He could feel his consciousness slipping. “It’ll be okay,” he lied, just before everything went black. 

***

Clint woke up in medical. He suppressed the urge to pull out all the tubes and needles and tried to keep his breathing even. When he finally opened his eyes he found Natasha sitting on the chair next to him, her feet crossed on his bed. 

“So are you and Phil… a thing?” she asked. 

“No,” he said, voice hoarse, “he’s just my handler.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but he’s known her long enough to know it just means she’s amused. 

“He only handles my SHIELD business.” 

“Just asking,” she said, but her eyebrows go down, satisfied with the answer. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while longer, until he has to ask. “How did the debrief go?” 

“Terrible,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes, “they’re waiting for you to get better.” 

“Tash,” he sighed, “Natasha, it wasn’t your fault, your aim was perfect, you couldn’t know he could do that. It wasn’t in the file.”

“Sixty seven people died, Clint,” she said, “that’s in _my_ ledger.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again, but didn’t try to elaborate. He knew anything he said wouldn’t convince her, especially not when it’s gone in her ledger. 

***

Clint woke up slowly. The sun was up, but with the cream coloured curtains drawn it was hard to tell what time it was. 

He was released from medical three days ago but they wouldn't let him go back on active duty yet, so he'd gone back to his apartment in the city. He'd thought he’d be killing some time alone, but to his surprise Natasha had followed him. She'd stayed the nights and there was no question to where she was going to sleep.

The other side of the bed was still warm this morning. He resisted the urge to bury his face in the pillows, and instead rolled to the other side and out of bed. He downed a couple of tablets and stumbled into the shower. He stood under the hot water for a very long time. 

The marks on his body were slowly fading to dark browns and ugly yellows, but breathing was still hard, and everything still felt tender. Healing was always the worst part. 

Once his muscles had loosened and the pain had faded to a dull ache he climbed out and threw some clothes on. Breakfast felt like too much effort but coffee was a necessity.

He found her in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts. It was too big for her slight frame but there was only so much it could cover. 

He found himself longing to run his hand up her creamy thigh, over her hips and under the shirt, but he had a feeling she’d break his fingers if he tried.

He contented himself with pouring a cup of coffee and resting his hip on the kitchen counter. 

The silence was comfortable, but the longer he watched her the more he wanted to say something. 

“Didn’t take you for the housewife type,” he said.

She stiffened and then relaxed. It was over in a second, and if Clint didn't know any better he would have thought he imagined it. 

“There’s a lot you don't know about me,” she said, and turned off the stove. 

“Tash-” he started, not knowing how to take it back.

She turned around pan in hand. “Eat up,” she said, “if you don't start getting better Fury might re-think your house arrest.”

He took the pan, not taking his eyes off her, but the moment had passed. 

They spent the day lounging around the house. She read a book, he played the PlayStation. She would sometimes join him to kick his ass, and sometimes he’d throw himself on the couch, his feet in her lap on the small love seat while they watched a movie. 

When they made it to bed that night he curled up on his side, and she curled around him, her nose pressed into his neck. 

“Go to sleep,” she said, moving herself as if to pull away but ending up even closer. 

“Like it’s that easy,” he said, sighing.

“Sometimes it is,” she replied. 

“Not for me.”

They lay in silence for a while longer and when it became clear he wasn't going to fall asleep, she spoke again. “I know this trick.”

“You’re not going to knock me out are you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and he could _hear_ her eye roll, “and it’s not sex, before you go there.”

“I wasn’t-” he started.

“Right,” she said, and pulled away. 

“Hey, hey-” he turned around to face her.

“Relax,” she said, “we just need to change position for this to work.”

She turned to lie on her back, and when he hesitated she pulled him forward to lie on top of her, his head resting on her chest. 

“Go to sleep,” she said again, running a hand over his short hair. 

“This is stupid,” he replied, “if this was your big idea, then I can sleep on my own thanks.”

“Obviously not,” she said, “just close your eyes. Can you hear my heartbeat?”

He moved his head slightly until his ear pressed into her bare skin. “Yes.”

“Just breathe with me,” she said, “listen to my heartbeat, focus on it.”

He did as he was told, listening to the soft thump-thump of her heart, synchronizing his breathing with hers. It wasn’t long before he started to drift off and then finally fall asleep. 

***

The next morning he woke up to an empty bed again. The bed was cold, and he could tell the house was empty. 

He stayed in bed a little longer, deluding himself into thinking he could hear her moving around the kitchen. Eventually though, he forced himself out. He took his time leaving the room, delaying the inevitable.

When he made it to the kitchen it looked exactly like it did last night. It was like she was never there. He contemplated breakfast, then maybe just coffee, and decided against both. There really was no reason to not just crawl into bed, but there was no way he was going back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was smooth skin and red hair. 

He squashed the thought in its tracks. If Natasha found out she would probably kill him. Instead he pulled some things together and threw it all in a bag before picking up his bow. What he needed was to work himself ragged, until the frustration was nothing but a distant throb, and he was too exhausted to think. He slept like the dead that night.

He told himself he wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t. 

***

Natasha was under cover. It was going to be an easy information pick up. She knew Sewick from her old days and he doesn't know she’s with SHIELD, so it was the perfect opportunity. Clint was only there to keep an eye on things. He was far enough away that Sewick’s men won’t be able to detect him but close enough to take Sewick down if there was any trouble.

Clint watched closely. He had an ear piece but since they were talking in Russian it didn’t make much of a difference. He knew Fury wanted him to keep an eye on Natasha as well as on the bad guy, but Clint didn’t think Natasha was going to run. 

As Clint watched, the talking got more heated, Sewick got angrier as Natasha’s voice got deeper and suddenly the man lunged at her. Natasha blocked him, but he didn’t stop. They fell to the ground and rolled around until finally Natasha had the upper hold, her fingers around his neck. He scratched at her hands but couldn't get loose. It looked close to ending but there was a sudden movement and he was free, and running. Natasha cursed under her breath as she broke into a run after him. 

“He’s going west,” Natasha said into the comm, “I’m going after him, we can intercept him just before the train station.”

“I’m on my way,” Clint said, his quiver already over his shoulder and running out the door.

He hit the street and ran towards the station, squeezing between side streets and gaps between buildings, making sure to keep the sun on his right. When he got close he climbed up the nearest building, using the crumbling masonry to pull himself up. 

He reached the top just in time to see Sewick pause at the train station entrance and turn around, posing to shoot.

“I can see him,” Clint said. 

“No,” Natasha yelled back, “let me, we need him alive.”

“No, we don't! Tasha-”

Sewick started to shoot, and Clint almost took the shot anyway. Natasha ducked the first bullet but the second grazed her arm and the third her back. The fourth got her in the waist and Clint couldn't wait anymore. He took out his hand gun instead and Sewick was down before he could take the fifth shot at Natasha. 

There was some more Russian cursing in his ear but he wasn't sure if she was cursing at him or if it was because of her injuries. 

“Widow, report,” he said into his earpiece. There was more cursing and then silence. “Tasha!”

“I’m fine,” she bit out, as he reached the ground and ran towards her.

“Back up!” he yelled at the civilians surrounding her, “I’m her husband.”

“He stole my purse,” she said.

“You need a hospital,” a man in the crowd said. 

She pulled a hand away from her side and it came away red. “It’s just wine,” she said, “from the table.”

“You going to be alright?” Clint asked her, searching her face for any tell-tale signs she needed extra help.

“I’ll be fine sweetie,” she said, but using his arm to support herself as she stood up, and she was only half faking it, her fingers digging into his skin, “I just need to lie down.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he told her and put an arm protectively around her waist, feeling his bare skin touch another bloody spot on the small of her back. 

“The man-” she started. 

“Dead,” he said, “good shot by the police I would say.”

***

It should have been harder to sneak into her room. Natasha was cautious to a fault. He silently closed the door behind him and walked in, following the trail of clothes on the ground. He saw that some of them were ripped, or had blood on them, or both. 

He pushed the bathroom door open and saw her lying in the bathtub, a wet towel over her eyes, and another over her breasts. Her knees were pulled up and her mouth was slightly open, a thin trail of smoke drifting out and mixing with the steam. 

“It’s rude to walk in without knocking, Barton,” she said.

So he wasn’t as quiet as he thought he was being. “How did you know it was me?”

“You have a distinctive step,” she said, “almost silent, but you match your breathing, which is smart, most people try to not breathe.”

He wanted to tell her how he’d learned how to be quiet for long periods when he was younger, he wanted to tell her about the circus and the reason he had to learn, but he didn’t. “I came to check up on you,” he said instead. 

“I’m fine,” she said, taking a drag from the lit cigarette before precariously replacing it on the edge of the bathtub. 

“I know there’s three bullet wounds, there’s blood in the water and you don't smoke, but the smell almost masks the smell of disinfectant,” he said, “and you let me come in, even though you’re vulnerable. You’re not fine.”

“Just because I’m naked doesn't mean I’m vulnerable,” she said. 

“I don't doubt that,” he replied, “but you’re wounded, let me help you.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

He stepped closer, pushed aside her underwear and sat on the edge of the bath tub. “You took care of me before,” he said, “let me take care of you.”

She finally took the towel off her eyes, and he could see the bruise on the side of her eye, and the gash on the other side of her face.

“You know that sounds really creepy when you say it,” she said, but her lips quirked up a little and Clint figured he’d won. 

He couldn't help but smile back. “Come out of there and let me dress those for you,” he said, “I know for a fact it’s easier when someone else does it.”

Natasha watched him walk out and wondered if she could get away with dressing these herself before he got suspicious but she was too tired, too weary to do much more than lie here. 

Eventually she pulled herself out, gave the scrapes a last wipe down and wrapped a big towel around herself. She ran a brush through her hair before tying it up and out of the way and went out the door.

He was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, with the first aid kit laid out beside him. When she walked in he got up, clearing the bed for her. 

“You either need to put some sort of clothes on or take that towel off,” he said. 

“Easy there cowboy,” she said, “I don't think I’m up for it.”

He gave her a look. “Listen babe, I’ve seen it all, and a beat up bleeding girl is not really my thing.”

She gave him a look right back. She held his gaze for a few seconds before sitting down on the edge of the bed, letting the towel pool around her waist, leaving her breasts bare. “This one is the worst,” she said, lifting an arm to show him the deepest of the wounds, “I got the bullet out but it’s a weird angle, I can’t see it properly.”

He knelt down so his face was inches from the wound. “That’s gonna need stitches,” he said. He was so close she could feel his breath on her damp skin.

“Have you done it before?” she asked. Now that she was out of the bathtub, she was starting to ache again.

“Have I done it before,” he said with a huff, and picked up a needle and a long thread, “are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” she said. When he started it hurt like hell, she sucked in a breath and held it, trying to not move. He had a deft fingers and gentle hands - something she hadn’t expected - but when he was done his work was neat, much neater than hers would have been.

“You do this often?” she said, inspecting his work. 

“Not on other people, but it’s easier when I’m not the one feeling the pain,” he said, grinning up at her.

“Don’t get too cocky,” she said, “especially when you’re this close to my breasts.”

He stepped away, standing up straight. “It’s still going to scar.”

“Yeah, but not too much,” she said, “I think the rest should be alright with bandages, there’s this one on my back.” She turned away from him to show him and heard his intake of breath. 

“I thought you’ve seen it all,” she said, smiling to herself in satisfaction. 

“Is that where the name comes from?” he said, running a hand across the small of her back, over her tattoo. 

“Yes and no,” she said.

“What’s in the middle?” he asked, pressing a finger into the centre of the small spider web, where the skin was a perfectly round scar. She couldn't help but pull away slightly, pulling at the fresh stitches in her side. 

“I was caught once,” she said, “I was...tricked, but I was trapped and they injected me with something. I eventually got away and I’ve been running since.”

“You escaped,” he said, “just like that?” 

“Yeah,” she said, “they said that the therapy didn't work but...” she shrugged. “Now, did the bastard mess up the alignment?” 

Clint hesitated a moment longer then pulled his hands away. “No,” he said, placing a bandage over the scrape, “he just missed.”

When he was done tending to all of her wounds, he made her lie down and pulled the covers over her still naked frame, towel and all. When she was covered, she pulled the towel out from under the covers, till the soft cotton was brushing her skin.

He brushed his hand over her dark hair. “I liked it better red,” he said. 

“That was my natural colour,” she said, letting her eyes fall closed, her guard dropping for just a second. 

She felt the soft brush of lips where his hand had been, but when she opened her eyes again, he was at the door. “Get some sleep,” he told her, and he was gone.

***

“You’re sending me...alone?” she asked. 

“You’ve been with us for a few years now,” Phil said, “and Fury has deemed you fit for solitary missions.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, because she wasn't sure what to make of this. 

“We need you in Malibu,” he said, “to keep an eye on Tony Stark.”

“Sir?” 

“Here’s the file,” he said, passing it to her over his desk, “you’re going to go in as Natalia from legal to help facilitate the transfer of his company to one Miss Potts. He’s also going to hire you as his assistant.” 

“Are you going to make sure of it?” she said.

“No,” he said, “you will do that with your own...charm, Stark has a type. However we’ve planted some incentives. It’s all in the file.”

She took the file and walked out. She had a feeling she was being set up.

***

When everything went to hell at Stark’s Malibu house, Natasha thought that was it, they were going to pull her out. She was surprised when she got a call from Coulson in the early morning telling her to suit up and meet Director Fury at the donut place Stark had decided to park in. 

She secured the perimeter, slipped in from the back and watched as Stark took off his sunglasses and told her she was fired. 

“That’s not up to you,” she said, and hated herself for the slight waver in her voice, the uncertainty. 

She listened as Fury listed off bits and pieces from her report, about Potts becoming the CEO, about how Rhodes took one of the Iron Man Armour, and when she got the signal she injected Stark with whatever it was Fury had handed her earlier. 

She watched as the dark lines receded, just a little, and she could see the change in him. “It’s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms,” she told him as she saw his eyes focus, and his voice become clearer. 

Maybe there was hope for him yet. 

***

“We need you to go back to Stark Industries,” Fury told her once they took Stark back to what remained of his house, “we need you to continue shadowing Ms Potts.”

“Sir?” she asked, “I don't think that’s a good idea-”

“We’ve laid the groundwork,” he said, “you’ve been doing well, but your mission is not over yet.”

She hesitated but finally she nodded and walked away. She dressed up in her Natalia clothes, made sure everything was perfect and made her way to Stark Industries. 

She knocked on Potts’ door and when she was let in, she hugged her files close and made sure to lower her eyes. “Ms Potts,” she started, “I’m not sure what happened last night but I would like to apologise if I’ve caused any-”

“Ms Rushman, Natalie, stop,” Potts said, “I’m the one that needs to apologise.”

“Ma’am?” She asked, and her confusion was only half feigned.

“Tony is a very...brilliant man,” she said, “but sometimes...” she shook her head and looked Natasha in the eye. “What happened yesterday was not your fault, and I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I understand if you want to leave but I would really appreciate if could stay on as my assistant to help with the crazy mess that is my new company.”

Natasha smiled, polite and tight but amused nonetheless. “I would love to stay.”

“Great!” Potts said, and handed her some files, “let’s get back to work.”

***

“You talked to Potts!” Natasha said into the phone, without any introduction, without any small talk. 

“I did what I had to do,” Coulson’s voice came through, faint and crackly from the wind. 

“What did you say?” she asked, more curious now that her suspicions had been confirmed. 

“That you seemed like a hard worker, professional, that sort of thing,” he said, “mostly I just listened to her talk. She’s a good person, but she’s been dealing with Stark for too long.”

“She’s too trusting,” she said, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she unzipped her skirt.

“She really isn’t,” he said, “but with the right nudge here and there- what’s the problem, I heard you’re back in the loop.”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing, “I just don't understand what I’m doing here.”

“You’re gathering intel, Natasha,” he said, “it’s important, things are changing, we’re just trying to keep up.”

“Okay,” she said, “just know that having a Russian spy on your fellow Americans is strange no matter how you spin it.”

She heard his low chuckle through the weak connection. “You’re not Russian anymore, Natasha,” he said, “you’re SHIELD, you’re one of us.”

“Good night, Agent Coulson,” she said, unable to stop the smile on her face.

“Good night, Agent Romanoff.”

***

When his phone went off in the early morning, Clint nearly ignored it. Instead he sat up and answered it. 

“This is the first day of the first week of the first vacation I’ve taken since I signed up to work for you.”

“Oh that’s right,” Fury’s voice came through, “silly me. You get some rest, I don't think providing extra muscle at a possible alien crash site is something you’d be interested in anyway.”

Clint was out of the bed in an instant. “Where am I going?”

“New Mexico,” Fury said, and Clint could just hear the smirk on his voice, “we’ll send you the location, you’ll have to make your own way, we’re out of resources.”

“It’ll take me a couple of days,” Clint said, trying not to bang his head on the kitchen counter.

“Do better.” 

When Fury hung up Clint started the coffee machine and put his head down on the counter, slowly. Then he dialled Coulson. 

“Alien crash?” he asked, without any introduction.

“I’m on the way now,” Coulson said, “I thought you were on vacation.”

“Alien crash!” Clint repeated. 

“Yeah,” Coulson replied, “I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Alien crash,” Clint said again in defeat. 

Phil chuckled. “Get some coffee into you before you get in a car, Barton, and count your lucky stars you’re not dealing with Stark.” Then he hung up.

Clint kept his cheek on the cool marble while the coffee brewed. When it was done he pulled himself together and set out to get himself an alien. 

***

Two weeks after the incident at Stark’s Malibu house, Natasha asked to stay late on the pretence of trying to finish the backlog of paperwork. Potts only hesitated a moment before nodding and leaving to go home herself. 

Natasha stayed at her desk until the building was empty besides the body guard stationed at the lobby. All the offices have alarm systems, but she’d had practice with the technology before, so disabling Potts’ office was easy.

She took off her heels and slipped inside. She went through the computer first, taking everything she could grab. She could get past of most of the encryption but there were two files that were too heavily coded for her to get into. She copied it all and hoped she could try again at home. 

Next she goes through the desk drawers and photographed all the work related pages. She smiled at the bag of gummy bears in the bottom drawer and carefully left it out of her report. 

She sat on the desk and picked up the phone. She was about to plant the bug when she hesitated. She crossed her legs and dialled before she could talk herself out of it. 

The phone rang twice, and she could just imagine Clint looking at his phone in confusion before answering. “Hello?” The line was crackly and he sounded very far away.

“Hi,” she said quietly. 

“Hey Nat,” he said, “what’s up? Where are you calling from?” 

“Stark Industries, California,” she replied. 

“Is that what Phil meant when he said I should be glad I’m not dealing with Stark?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I’m mostly with Potts now, he was the one dealing with Tony. Fury put him on house arrest and had Phil babysit him.”

“Well that explains so much,” he said. 

“Why?” she asked, “Where are you now?”

“They told me I get a holiday then they told me there was an alien crash in New Mexico.”

“So you went running,” she said, nodding knowingly.

“Of course,” he said, “how many chances do you get to see an alien?”

They were silent for a moment but when she spoke again, it was something she’d been wondering about for a while. “Do you ever wonder what it'd be like?”

“What?” he asked. 

“Having a normal life,” she said, “what if I really was just an assistant, and you had a normal job and talking to each other from an office phone wasn’t so strange.”

“This isn’t strange,” he said, “is it strange for you?” 

She looked around the now familiar office, and the lights twinkling outside of the window. “A little.”

“'You'd get bored very fast, Tasha,” he said quietly.

“But what if I want boring,” she said, “you know, for a change, no gathering intel, no numbers, I'd like to be able to call someone using the normal telephone.”

“Tasha...are you okay?” he asked and she knew she'd worried him now. 

“I'm fine,” she said, glancing at the dark room, “I think I’m spending too much time here.”

“In California or inside your own head?” 

“Both,” she said, sighing, “how's New Mexico?”

He hesitated, but let her go with the sudden change of subject. “It's fine,” he said, “there was a sudden rainstorm we think might be related to the guy who broke in earlier.”

“What’d he want?” she asked. 

“We’re not sure,” Clint said, “we let him go and put a tail on him. He’s really strong though, it was awesome.”

“Do you think he might’ve been the alien?” she asked. 

“Maybe,” he said, and she could almost see him shrugging in the rain, “but he couldn't pick up the hammer, which is what we were actually looking into in the first place. Coulson tried to give me a gun.”

She laughed softly. “He should know better.”

***

“So...Stark Industries,” Clint said, when he first saw her. He was bent over a laptop, typing things in from some wrinkled, hand written notes. 

“I was a glorified babysitter,” she said, rolling her eyes, sitting down across from him, “it wasn’t aliens.”

“I don’t know, I heard you helped Stark destroy half the city,” he replied, smirking.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, smiling in spite of herself, “and I didn’t help him...much.”

Clint laughed.

“I was keeping him alive,” she said, “he destroyed the city on his own. I heard you helped keep someone alive too.”

“Thor, God of Thunder,” Clint said, “and his brother Loki, God of Mischief.”

“Like the fairytales,” she said, disbelieving.

“Like the Norse mythology,” he said, “like how they’re actually real and the myth is based on a real person.”

“That’s crazy,” she said, leaning forward.

“I saw it myself,” he replied, “it was like something straight out of a movie. Coulson is going to try and collect him.”

“For the Avengers?” she asked, “No way, we’ve got one, maybe two people who passed. Coulson’s not going to just throw an alien who was on Earth all of two weeks into this, it’s his baby.”

“So Stark didn’t make the cut?”

“No,” she said, “he doesn't seem the working-for-SHIELD type.”

“Just like us you mean?”

“Yes, which is exactly why we’re not going to make the cut either.”

“Coulson likes him,” Clint said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk, “he’ll make it into the Avengers.”

“Are you saying Coulson doesn't like us?” she asked seriously, before her face broke into a smile. “Come on,” she said, not waiting for a reply, “you better finish the report soon so we can go out again.”

***

“That shirt is ridiculous,” she said, taking the mojito from him to place it on the table.

“What?” he said, looking down at his bright blue and orange Hawaiian shirt, “it’s what passes for normal around these parts.”

“You still look ridiculous in it,” she said, but she couldn't stop the smile this time. 

He grinned back, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “At least it looks better than that terrible swimsuit.” 

She gave him a hurt look, placing a delicate hand on her chest. “It’s a vintage design,” she said, “the lady at the store said the buttons match my hair.”

He laughed. “And the sunglasses?”

“To complete the vintage look,” she said and lowered them over her eyes to strike a pose. The lenses made everything red and didn't do anything for the sun.

“Now who looks ridiculous?” he asked.

She burst into laughter and pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head again. “This is the best part of missions, Barton,” she said.

“Oh?” he questioned, “I don't know what you’ve been doing but my missions have never included drinking on the beach in the middle of summer. Then again, you were with Stark a little while ago...”

She punched him in the arm. “This was not like this and you know it.”

“Ow,” he said, and, “I know, I wasn't there for that one.”

She laughed but didn't reply, because they both knew it was partly true. 

***

The mission went surprisingly well. They caught the bad guy and no one was even injured. While the SHIELD crew flew in to deal with the guy and his men, Clint slipped away and took Natasha with him. 

“Let me get you some coffee,” he’d said and twenty minutes later she found herself back at the beach, still suited up, the wind blowing her hair into disarray. 

“Milady,” he said, handing her a cardboard cup, a cookie between his teeth.

“What are we doing back here?” she asked, taking the coffee from him, letting the cup warm her cold fingers.

“We don't get to see the beach often enough,” he said, biting into the cookie before offering it to her, “and we’ll be going home tomorrow so I thought we could take it in one last time, or something stupid like that.”

She smiled. “Not stupid,” she replied, taking the cookie from him and biting into it. She gave it back and looked out over the ocean and wondered if this is what happiness felt like. 

***

When Coulson pulled her out of a mission she was mad, until he told her Clint had been compromised. She really didn't need details, she just knew she had to get back to base. 

When he told her they were activating Phase 1 she knew it was more than just their agent getting compromised. 

It was easy to bribe the little girl to call Banner and lead him to the rigged house. But being this close to him, knowing what he was capable of was something she wasn't prepared for. She thought she was doing well, until he banged his hands on the rickety table.

“Stop lying to me!” he yelled, and she flinched. She flinched and had a gun in her hand within seconds, moments. 

She could feel the adrenalin rushing through her, the tears stinging at her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, backing away, the epitome of innocence, “that was mean. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

She didn't reply, still trying to get her breathing under control, trying to get her arms to move. The commander outside was yelling into her ear, but it was a testament to- to something when they didn't rush in. 

Banner still had his hands in sight, saying something about making a mess and pointing to her gun. When he said her name it pulled her back into focus. 

“Stand down, we’re good here,” she said into her earpiece. 

“Just you and me,” he said, but she knew she’d passed some sort of test.

***

Once Loki was secured and the six of them ended up on the street again, Stark dragged them to a little takeaway restaurant that had managed to survive the chaos. 

“If you’ve never heard of shawarma before how did you know about this place?” Natasha asked, stepping over some rubble to get through the doorway.

“I crash landed just outside there,” he said, pointing to what looked like a crater in the street, amidst the remains of aliens and tech. 

“Shouldn’t we be helping?” Steve asked, watching the clean-up crew starting to sort through the wreckage. 

“Later,” Clint said, “I’m starving.”

“Are you sure we can do this?” Bruce asked. Natasha noted that he had some new clothes on, and what looked very much like Tony’s shoes. 

“It’ll be fine,” Tony said, and pulled out a credit card. 

“You are unbelievable,” she said.

He flashed her a grin. “You’re not allowed to be surprised anymore.”

“I don't think I’ll ever stop being surprised by you,” she said, but she couldn't stop the smile. 

“Alright,” Tony said and walked up to the counter, “first, is your kitchen still working.”

“Yes,” the woman said, “but we’re closed.”

“Good, good,” he said, and pulled out his credit card, “let’s keep it that way, I would like some of everything you’ve got.”

“Sir, we are closed,” she repeated, then she caught sight of Thor still in full chain mail and cape, and of Steve, without the cowl but also still in full uniform, “You were the ones fighting outside,” she looked down at the card in her hand and back at Tony, “Mr Stark, it would be an honour to host you and your friends.”

“Avengers,” Clint put in, “it’s what we’re calling ourselves.”

She grinned. “Good name,” she said, and walked away, yelling at the people inside and the kitchen started to come alive. 

As they pushed some tables together and righted some chairs, Natasha caught Tony call back the woman and talked to her quietly, one hand on her shoulder, and the other gesturing at the credit card in her hand. 

The woman smiled up at him, and took the card away. He turned on his heels and joined them, pulling up a chair and sitting down. 

“What were you saying to her?” Tasha asked.

“Nothing important,” he said, waving a hand to brush her off, and quickly changed the subject. She turned her attention to the bustling kitchen, and even though she couldn’t understand the language she picked up words like ‘insurance’ and ‘no limit’ and she knew he’d done something huge. 

***

It took a long time for the dust to clear. They estimated the clean-up will take years, and massive amounts of money. Luckily Stark could help with the latter, as long as he didn't have to go down there himself.

She found herself spending more time in the newly named Avengers tower than anywhere else. Clint had all but moved in himself, and with the other Avengers all staying there to some degree, it was hard to protest. 

There had been some talk of separating the Avengers from SHIELD and there was a lot of debate going around. She got the feeling that it was more about SHIELD trying to distance themselves from the suddenly very public Avengers, but she couldn't blame them for that. 

“Do you think you’ll go?” Clint asked her, late one night.

She shrugged. “Do you think they’d even want us? I mean, we were never meant to be part of the initiative.”

“I don't think anyone was meant to be part of the initiative,” Clint said, “you denied Stark yourself.”

“How did we get here Clint?” she asked, “how is this something we have to think about?”

He shrugged with one shoulder, not meeting her eyes. “Does it matter how?” he asked, “This is it, the two of us, an alien, and some laboratory experiments.”

“Hey,” the voice came from behind them, “I resent that, my experiment started in a cave and was perfected in my basement.”

She looked up to see Stark strutting into the kitchen. 

“I’m not sure your basement counts as a lab anyway,” she replied. 

“Fair point,” he said, sliding into the chair opposite them, “what are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Clint said, “I’m going to bed.”

“No, hey, you should stay,” Stark said, “we should get some food.”

“It’s 2 in the morning,” Clint said, “and we live on a construction site.”

“The top is a construction site,” Tony said, “the lobby and elevator all work fine, and I know all the places that stay open late, and are still standing.” 

“I’m pretty sure you still owe me a Nutella and peanut butter sandwich,” she said, and Clint looked at her, surprised, before bursting into laughter. 

“Anyway,” Tony said, looking between them, “that nothing you were discussing, you should leave SHIELD and just stay here, less assholes at the top.”

“Just the one,” Natasha said, and to her surprise Tony laughed.

“Exactly!” he said, “Except I’m not at the top, technically we’re all on even footing. Cap is the one leading, and he’s not the type to be above everyone. Sort of his thing.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Clint said, “and with Phil gone...” he trailed off but she knew what he meant. With Phil gone there was no reason to stay in SHIELD. 

“That’s settled then!” Tony said, “You should give them your two weeks’ notice or something.”

Natasha couldn't stop the half smile, she wondered what the protocol for leaving SHIELD was.

“Now, how about that sandwich?” Tony said, clapping his hands together before turning to rummage through the cupboards, “Nutella?” he pulled out a jar, “and peanut butter?” 

He put them both on the counter.

“Bread?” Clint said, getting up to pull out butter knives from the drawers. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “So demanding.”

Clint smirked at him but took the bread and put it in the toaster. 

“Are you really making food in the middle of the night?” 

They all looked up to see a half asleep Bruce padding into the kitchen, his hair standing at odd angles. He ran a hand through it and sat down next to her.

“Doc?” Clint asked. 

Bruce sighed. “What are we having?”

“Clint is making us sandwiches,” Tony said, “Nutella and peanut butter.”

“I prefer mine with honey if you’ve got any,”

“With Nutella?” Clint asked. 

“Peanut butter,” Bruce corrected, giving him a look.

“Someone should wake up Cap,” Tony said, “he’s really into this group bonding thing.”

“We can’t wake him up at 2 am, Tony,” she said. 

“Sure I can,” he said, “Jarvis-”

“Something’s burning.” They all turned to see Steve walking in, fully dressed and awake. 

Clint swore and pulled the toast out of the toaster and promptly dropping them and sucked on his fingers. 

“Does nobody sleep in this place?” he asked around his fingers. 

Steve shrugged and joined them on the kitchen island, taking in the bread and jars. “Do we have any bananas?” 

“What for?” Tony asked, “Are you seriously bypassing peanut butter and chocolate for fruit?” 

“No actually, it’d be good with the peanut butter,” he said. 

“You guys are so weird,” Clint said. 

“This almost makes your first suggestion sound kind of tame,” she replied.

“We should just put everything together,” Tony said.

“Except the honey maybe,” Clint said, “sorry doc.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Bruce said, “I like to keep it simple.”

“Next time, we try cookie butter,” Tony said, “Jarvis, put it on the grocery list.”

“Yes, sir,” The AI replied. 

Natasha watched Clint make the sandwiches, and the other three discuss the wonders of cookie butter. She wondered again how this had become her life. 

***

Her sleeping habits haven’t changed, but neither has anyone else’s. No matter what time of day there will be someone who is awake, and someone who is in bed. And if sometimes she and Clint shared a bed, no one mentioned it. 

Tony still didn't trust her completely, which was fair, but Steve did and that was strange. She got the feeling Bruce was always faintly amused when any one of them did anything, but he seemed happy. So was Clint. The most surprising though, was that so was she. She was content. It took her a while to recognise the feeling, but it was there. She wasn't looking over her shoulder anymore. She was happy. 

It wasn’t normal, by far. They had an alien who stayed occasionally. Robots were a part of their daily routine. The house spoke back. The bad guys have gotten bigger and meaner. Her ledger was still in the red. 

And life goes on.


End file.
